Serendipitous Meeting

Last November, my husband and I signed up for a group tour of Cuba, the only legal way to go at that time. We grabbed the opportunity, knowing that the writing was already on the wall that such tours to study architecture and design would become extinct by January 2004. Just another repressive gem from our current administration. Hearing that I was headed for Havana, my brother said: "You must read OUR MAN IN HAVANA by Graham Greene. The comedic premise of this book is an Englishman living in Havana in the '50's with his teenage daughter. He is a vacuum cleaner salesman, divorced, and trying desperately to provide his child with all of the material things that she desires. But in '50's Havana, a fast lifestyle included private clubs, riding lessons, and fancy clothes. The Englishman needed to find a way to supplement his salary. Slowly but surely, someone begins to approach him to become a spy. A man slinks around in the shadows; notes appear mysteriously.

On our first night in our Havana hotel, my husband and I returned to our room after dinner only to find a note under our door: "Betsy, Call Pamela." Now we knew nobody in Cuba and couldn't imagine how this message had come out of nowhere. It was also strangely mimicking the story I was reading. All of a sudden I was nervous, even shaking, but incredibly curious. I convinced my husband to make the call. It turned out that Pamela is an American married to a Cuban artist. She knew an American Betsy who would be staying at our hotel that week, but couldn't remember her last name. The hotel operator said: "Yes, we have an American Betsy" and put her through to our room. Pamela was immediately open and friendly on the phone. We said we were obviously the wrong Betsy, but could we get together? We wanted very much to see her husband's work.

The next evening, we hopped into a cab and gave the driver an address. As he drove further and further away from our hotel, we asked if he would wait for us while we visited. He communicated that this was not possible. Finally he stopped in front of a building and gestured that this was our destination. We walked through a front gate, along a short gravelly path, and pulled hard on the door knocker. Inside on the first floor, we could hear dogs barking and Spanish chatter. The scent of onions frying was strong. A slim young man, hair pulled back in a ponytail, sneakers on his feet, and a wide smile on his face opened the door and led us upstairs to his apartment above. This was Pamela's husband, Damian, who greeted us as though we had always known him. In fact, the warm embrace of this couple was infectious. They immediately offered us rum drinks and then insisted that we join them for dinner at their friends' "palador". In Cuba, citizens are allowed to have small restaurants within their homes as long as they serve what they're cooking for their own families, employ relatives, and keep the operation on a moderate scale. It's one of the few ways of being entrepreneurial in that country.

Every once in a while in life, there are serendipitous meetings. This was one of those moments. We ate and drank with this couple long into the night, and continued to see them on subsequent evenings. For us, they filled out a bus tour experience that would have been two-dimensional. For them, we were voices from the outside who could convey information and impressions. We also just clicked as people. We continue to e-mail as I worry each time I read news of hurricanes or blackouts caused by serious energy shortages. I work hard fundraising, writing articles and letters as I hope that a change in our administration will open the door to Cuba at least a crack before our embargo and their lack of access to medicines and other basic needs becomes a humanitarian crisis. The US spreads it resources far and wide while it shuns a neighbor 90 miles from Florida. And selfishly, I want to be able to visit our new friends.

Originally a painter, Damian's current work involves metal men which he carves from found objects like refigerators and car parts. Sometimes he uses the men to create giant sculptures which he installs on walls. Sometimes he lets some of these men rust and leave their decaying impressions on canvas. Havana's buildings are decaying from neglect and lack of attention, but there is a strength in their young people whose music and dancing spills out into the streets.